Healing the Past
by Dr. Lauryl
Summary: PG-13 for language and later sexual references. When Audrey moves to the institute, she starts to think her life will look up. But the past has a funny way of sneaking up on people. Non-Mary Jane (I hope) and AU (no X2) RR!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own no characters except the obvious (Audrey and her famille). And I apologize in advance if my French isn't up to par. 2 years of French will only take you so far, but I've tried my hardest to be accurate. A mini request: you don't need to tell me what I got wrong. Honestly, I'll learn sometime, and if it completely and totally takes over your mind and the only thing you can think of is how I spelled one thing wrong or structured one sentence incorrectly, then you're missing the point of this story.

Prologue

Once upon a time there was a perfect mother who was so kind and gentle. She worked very hard all day, and she loved every minute of it. She would wake up early in the morning rested and ready for the new day. She would make breakfast for her husband, two children, a boy and a girl named Jean-Patrick and Mélanie, and herself. She was madly in love with her husband and thought her two children were the best in the world: they were so smart and quick-witted and polite. They would get straight-A's, too, and succeed in anything they did, just like the mother did until she decided she loved her family more than working. After breakfast the father and children would go to work and school. The father was a big business man who made a lot of money, but always had time for his family, and the children were in elementary school. When everyone was gone, the mother would go shopping and socialize with the other mothers of the town. And everyone would live until they were very old and finally die happy in each other's arms. Everything would be perfect. Everything would be normal. Everything would be _right_.

I used to think my life would be like that. I was eight, naïve, and had illusions that every eight-year-old should have. Life would be like house. Your husband was always glad to come home and see you, your baby never cried, and if you dropped her, well, that's okay because she's durable. It started with 'once upon a time' and ended with 'the end' like every good fairy tale. I was eight, and my naïveté didn't last long. Now it's nine years later, and I somehow ended up here, in New York State. New York is a long ways away when you grow up in Bordeaux, and I would have never thought I'd end up here. But then I realized that life stories rarely begin with 'once upon a time' and never conclude with 'the end'.

I live in an institute. I know what you're thinking, _Institute_. Surprisingly enough, it's not like that, though the name sounds…insane. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters; corny, isn't it? Before you make any preconceptions, though, let me tell you how I got here.

Once upon a time, when I was eight, my father died. Soon after, too soon, really, my mother got remarried. Ever read Cinderella? Well, this isn't like that. I did no hard labor while society's back was turned, and I never, ever got my prince. My stepfather was a very powerful, very influential man in business and we were great from the outside in, but not from the inside out. He was wonderful on the outside and loved by his associates, but what they didn't know about him was what my mother was afraid to tell. But this is all part of my old life. My new life started when a certain man came to my door.


	2. My New Beginning

Disclaimer: I own no characters except the obvious (Audrey and her famille). And I apologize in advance if my French isn't up to par. 2 years of French will only take you so far, but I've tried my hardest to be accurate. A mini request: you don't need to tell me what I got wrong. Honestly, I'll learn sometime, and if it completely and totally takes over your mind and the only thing you can think of is how I spelled one thing wrong or structured one sentence incorrectly, then you're missing the point of this story.

Chapter One ~ My New Beginning

It was a shiny day in August. Yes, I mean shiny. The sun was glaring and heat radiated from the pavement like oil separating from water. It was a heat wave spanning five days, and absolutely unbearable. Who knew New York could get so hot? My step-father, ever the miser, insisted on using ceiling fans and open windows, claiming the days were much hotter when he was growing up in Southern France. I doubt it, though. Everything's exaggerated when you're a kid; even if you grow up to be an influential businessman. In fact, it was his business that brought us here in the first place. Westchester, New York, United States of America. I wasn't sad about leaving Bordeaux: there was nothing left for me there. You'd be amazed at how many people don't pay attention to you when you won't speak, but I guess that's the way I wanted it. Anyway, it was August, my second month in the states, and my savior came to the door. At the time I would've never even thought of him as that. People were people and it was best not to associate with them: you can't get hurt that way.

I was in my room, listening to my headphones, stripped down to my undergarments because it was so damn hot, when I saw the glare of a car's windshield pull into my driveway. Interested, I turned off my French punk and pulled on a t-shirt and jean shorts. I went down and sat on the steps; it was best to stay unnoticed and just listen. The doorbell rang and my stepfather called out "Attendez, je viens, je viens!" He got up (much to his chagrin; any work was too much work) and answered the door. From my seat on the steps I could see two people: a very pretty redheaded girl and a bald man in a wheelchair. "Can I 'elp you?" my stepfather asked.

"Yes. Is this the Saint-Grégoire residence?" the bald man asked.

"Ouais?" My stepfather's tone was almost impudent in his informality.

"We are here to speak to you about your daughter. Is there someplace we can talk?" the girl-well, she was in her twenties-said.

"What do you want wit' 'er?" the jackass (my stepfather) said.

"My name is Charles Xavier, and I run a school for the gifted. We believe your daughter is a special person and we would like to invite her to our school. This is Dr. Jean Grey, she is on the teaching staff." They moved out onto the porch, after my stepfather called my mother. 

"Hélène!" He called her like a child. "Nous avons quelque visiteurs!" She came out and the visitors made their introductions. I went to lie on the couch just out of view but under the window. After everyone was settled, the redhead, Jean, started talking.

"You see, your daughter has a gift and our school with help her develop and use her skills."

"And what exactly are zese 'skills'?" The professor took the response.

"Well, every child's gift is different from the next. We're not exactly sure what her skills are, and she probably doesn't know either."

"So, you want her at your school, but you have no idea what she can do?" Ever the skeptic.

"The purpose our school is to help the child develop her skills. She'll grow and learn about herself and the world through our prestigious lessons. She'll be living with children her own age who have similar gifts."

"So, zis is a boarding school?"

"Yes. We can set up an appointment to see the facilities…"

"T'at won't be nécessaire. How much will it cost me?" That bastard. Of course he's concerned with the money. For a moment I actually thought he cared where I was going.

"Actually, we privately fund the school, so there is no required monetary deposit, though donations never go overlooked."

"C'est vrai? Elle est gratuit?" I thought he was going to burst with happiness: getting rid of me for free. He never thought it could be so good.

"Oui, elle est gratuit" Xavier replied in almost perfect French. "But surely you'll want to see the facilities first."

"Non. I said t'at won't be necessary, and it won't. 'ow soon can you take 'er?" Looking back, that was the second worst thing he said.

"But, sir, surely you'll want some time for her to get ready and say goodbye," Jean tried. There's no getting through to my jackassed stepfather, though.

"'Ow soon?"

"As soon as you would like, I guess."

"Parfait. Audrey!" I cringed, got up and stood at the door. "Get your stuff together, you're moving out." I nodded, and noticed Jean give Charles a furtive glance. I went upstairs and pulled out my suitcase. It was already packed. I had been planning on running away next time my mom and my step-dad got into a fight, but never got enough nerve. I knew no one, had very little money, and didn't speak. Not exactly prime resources for running away. I grabbed my essentials and personal items, both of which numbered very few, and returned downstairs, ready to go and leave this shit-hole behind. Don't get me wrong, the house was nice, but almost anything would have been better than living with my stepfather. 

I went out to the porch and I think Jean and Charles were surprised at my hasty return. Charles tried one more time with my father.

"Are you sure you don't want to…" 

"What more do you want from me?! Prennez-la! Nous ne la voulons pas!" And with that, he slammed the door, leaving a very surprised redheaded woman, a very contemplative bald man, and a very lost girl.


	3. Informational Arrival

Insert Standard Disclaimer

A/N: By popular demand I've put in "subtitles". I really, really, really didn't want to interrupt the flow, so I need you guys to tell me if they are a nuisance. Also, I didn't add them to the French that is obviously explained. How's my storytelling? Leave a review!

ALSO: sorry for the anti-climatic chapters…it'll pick up…I swear!!! 

Chapter Two ~ Informational Arrival

That phrase still sticks in my head and on the way to my new life, I couldn't stop thinking about it. _Prennez la! Nous ne la voulons pas! _Take her! We don't want her! I can't think of a better example to sum up our relationship, and as much as I'd like to say I left and never thought about him again, I can't. He will always be with me, haunting me, and for that I hate him more every day. 

The beginning of the car ride was painfully silent. Jean tried to make small talk, but she soon found out it was all one-sided. Then, after an awkward pause, she started talking about the school. Her explanation was interesting, but I knew she was just talking on automatic to make the silence go away. Up until the point she started talking, I had a very dim idea as to where I was going. She reiterated that I was 'gifted', but after that, I'm disappointed to say, I stopped listening. Her speaking got too confusing. I had been studying English since elementary school, but after so much of it I got a headache and my brain's English function just shut down. At one point she looked in the rear-view mirror at me and said "Comprenez-vous?" [You understand?] I automatically nodded, even though I had no idea (nor did I care) what she was saying. Sure, she rescued me from Hell, but she sure talked a lot.

Luckily, the car ride wasn't too long. When we reached the premises, the school instantly grabbed my attention. We entered through huge, mechanical, decorated iron gates into what is quite possibly the nicest building I've seen in America. It was grand, like a château, and had all the elegance of a palace. I no longer cared if this woman talked for days without stopping; this was my new _home_.

My feeling of awe didn't appear for long on my face. I had learned years ago that other people didn't care what I was feeling, so they didn't need to know. I pulled on my face of perfect passiveness and slight detached interest as we walked in, and it was everything I could do to keep my mask on. For a moment, though, I felt like I had walked into a fairy tale and everything was going to be right from now on. But memories have a bad habit of sneaking up on you and pouncing at such moments of hope, and I came back to reality. 

Jean pulled the car into a garage that could not possibly be a garage. Everything was so clean and orderly that it almost looked like a livable room. Jean cut the engine and popped the trunk as I got out of the car. She started to get my suitcase out, but I waved her out of the way, politely, I might add, and retrieved my single piece of luggage myself. As I got out my suitcase, Charles managed to get out and get situated. I shut the trunk and followed him as he bid. 

"This is the mansion, Audrey. This is my school for gifted children. Only the garage, of course, but I trust you got a nice look from the outside. There are many students like you here." I raised a questioning eyebrow. He stopped moving and turned around. "You, Audrey, are a mutant." At this I cocked my head. Like a dog, I know, but what else was I supposed to do? "Vous êtes très differente. Vous avez des énérgies que d'autres pas." [Essentially, "You are very different. You have powers that others don't."] Okay, I understood that. So I'm different? I knew that already…but énérgies? How did I come to have 'powers'? "You see, Audrey, some people are more…evolved than others. They contain something tentatively referred to as the 'X-gene'. This gene gives its carrier a unique gift; no two gifts manifest exactly the same way in any two people. These powers are generally very powerful and, if used incorrectly, can be deadly. My institution helps teenagers such as you learn to use and manipulate this power. We teach our students to use their powers for helping people, and to never use their powers against another human being." We started moving again and Charles let me think on the topic. What power could I possibly have? I've never destroyed anything…just…fixed things, I guess. After my step-dad would hit my mom, I would put my hands on her swollen face and the swelling would go down. I never thought anything of it, but…

"So, I'm sure you're assuming, as well as I, that you're power is healing." I looked at him, letting some shock into my face. "I have telepathic abilities; I can read your thoughts. But don't worry, Audrey, I have morals. I will not read your secrets or anything of the sort. I merely open up this form of communication for you to use, since you will not talk." I thought about this for a moment. This guy seemed really wonderful. I mean, he took me when my parents didn't want me. But the question was whether or not I trusted him to stay away from my thoughts. After a moment of deliberation (and the fact I had no where else to go but here) I decided to use this new form of communication.

_Okay, _I thought. It was the first word I had spoken to anyone in the past four years. 

_Good,_ he replied. Then he continued to explain out loud what this school included without skipping a beat.

My first day at the institute was very informational, though I didn't see any other kids. The Professor (that was his title, I learned) told me they were out on their free time, probably in town. I did meet other teachers, though; it was a little awkward because I don't like shaking hands. There was Scott Summers, who thought his flirtatious glances towards Jean went unnoticed; and Ororo Munroe, who was a beautiful, dark-skinned lady with silvery hair. Of course, she was also introduced with her alias, Storm, which is a heck of a lot easier to say than Ororo.

By early evening, when kids started to filter back in, I was exhausted. It takes a lot to be in a new place meeting new people and deciphering a second language. Storm showed me up to my room, which I'd be sharing with two other girls. When she left, I closed the blinds, got ready for bed, and fell asleep before dinner. 

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So, what do you think? Is Audrey a believable character? Please review, I need all the feedback I can get! Thanks for reading this far!


	4. Stimulation

Insert Standard Disclaimer

Chapter 3 ~ Stimulation

I woke up very early on that second day. Well, I thought it was early, but the two other beds in the room were vacant and made. I began to wonder if anyone had been in the room at all, but then I saw a cardigan sweater on a desk chair and some gloves on the desk. I looked at the digital clock: 7:17 am. I went over to my suitcase, pulled out my hairbrush to sweep my curly black ringlets into a low bun, and pulled out my clothes for the day. I gathered my morning toiletries and clothes and went to the bathroom. There I changed and got ready for a new day, checking in the mirror at my slightly oversized shirt and nondescript blue jeans. I grabbed my stuff and stepped into the hallway – and into a mass of children. Well, I'm exaggerating. There were eight or nine kids, but to me that was a _lot_. I'm still not comfortable around a lot of people to this day, so on that particular occasion I retreated back into the bathroom. After I heard no one else I deemed it safe to go back into my room and exited. I walked into my room to see my two roommates for the first time.

One girl was younger, probably fourteen or fifteen. She was wearing a light blue tank top and khaki capris. As I walked in the room timidly, she described later, her face lightened up.

"Hi! My name's Kitty Pryde!" she seemed to be the kind of person who was always happy. I, of course, didn't respond verbally, but nodded my head a bit in acknowledgement. She seemed surprised at my lack of reply, but then, as if remembering something, that surprise flew away.

The second girl was older, more my age of sixteen or seventeen. Flaxen strips of hair framed her face while the rest of her nut-brown hair was drawn up into a ponytail. She was wearing almost the exact opposite of her roommate, Kitty. Black pants and long, black satin gloves accented a red, form-fitting, sleeveless shirt. 

"Hey. I'm Rogue," she said, again in contrast with Kitty. Her soft Southern accent seemed to fit her laid-back personality. I nodded once more, then went to my suitcase to put my things away. "You must be Audrey," she said. "The Professor mentioned we'd have a roommate last night when we came in, the he explained to the rest of the kids about who you were." I looked at her, hoping to covey a sort of "and just who am I?" look. I think she got my message. 

"He told us that you were new and that you were French and that you didn't speak much," Kitty recalled. "He told everyone to be really nice and, um, to try our hardest to make you feel at home." At that I sighed rather loudly. I may have looked pissed because at that point Kitty asked quietly to Rogue, "Did I say something wrong?" Rogue responded both to my mood change and Kitty's question.

"Home's probably the last place you wanna be right now, right?" I looked at her and nodded. At least we were on the same wavelength. She looked like she was about to say something else, but Kitty looked at the clock and exclaimed, 

"Oh hey! We gotta get to breakfast!" She grabbed her sandals from beside the bed and hurried out the door. Rogue was a little slower and waited for me a bit before going out. I was relieved that Rogue had decided to become my self-appointed tour guide. As nice as Kitty seemed, Rogue was a lot easier to be around for extended periods of time. On our way down to breakfast, Rogue started talking again.

"I know what it's like to want to be anywhere else but home. I can't pretend we've been through the same thing, but I'm not a bad person to hang around sometimes. We seem to have some things in common." I was about to question her little speech, but we reached the dining room. 

If I thought I was scared when the crowd of kids passed me in the halls, this was three times as uncomfortable. I could feel myself physically tense up as Rogue led me into the salle à manger [dining room]. 

I sat down quite rigidly in the elegant wooden chairs and everyone started to dig in. I noticed a few people stopping briefly to say prayers and whatnot, but overall I was amazed at the general tolerance. No one was telling the others what to say or do (save 'pass the potatoes!') and I appreciated it. Everything was going fine, too, until the guy with the shades, who had been introduced as Scott, came over. In retrospect, I know he only meant well, but at the time I was out of my mind with fear. As I was holding the bowl of corn to dish onto my plate, he clasped my shoulder. My entire body tensed up and I dropped the serving spoon, which made a loud _clang! _as it hit the ceramic bowl. All conversation ceased immediately and everyone turned to look at me. I completely freaked out. I stood up quickly (a little too quickly, actually) and my plate flipped onto the floor. I stared out with (as I found out later) the most horrified look on my face at the crowd as they look at me with gaping mouths. It was too much, so I ran up to my room and slammed the door.

Looking back, I know my actions were too dramatic and severe. Later Rogue told me everyone was really worried and surprised, and I noticed Scott kept his distance for a few days. In my room I sat on my bed and started to sob. I swear I'm usually not a crier, but the stimulation had been way too much and it just scared me. Besides, Scott had touched my shoulder the way _he _touched me should and it was too much for me to bear. I pulled out my CD player and started my standard form of escape.

I hardly noticed when Rogue came in fifteen minutes later. She came into the room so quietly and it was only after touched my bed that I saw her. She gave a horrible fright, of course, but when I realized whom it was I took my headphones off. Rogue had brought up a plate of food from dinner and she put it on my bedside table.

"I hope you like it," she said. "I don't know what kind of food you like." I simply nodded at her and then took the plate. "He didn't mean to scare you. He told the professor afterwards that he was just going to welcome you to the mansion. I don't understand you, but I know you had a good reason for the way you acted. You seem like a very rational person." I stopped eating when she said that. I looked up at Rogue, trying to figure out if she was being sincere. If she were, she'd be the first person in a long time to have any sort of confidence in me. She met my gaze and I looked down immediately, suddenly becoming interested in my food again.

"I know you're not ready for a lot of things, least of all talking to me, but I was wondering if I could talk to you. Because, you see, I know we're very different, yet I feel like if I tell you about how I got here, you'd be able to relate to something." She looked over to me for a response. I thought about the situation for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm from Mississippi, if you couldn't tell by the accent. Only child, not bad in school, okay parents. So I invite this guy over to my house one day, just to hang out, even though I have the most massive crush on him. So we're lying on the bed, talking casually, when we lean in for the kiss. I'll spare you the details, but basically, the moment our skin touches, I start to suck his energy away. I try my hardest to break away, and when I succeed, he's seizing. Right then and there, huddled in the corner and scared out of my mind, I swore to myself that I'd never go back. I never thought in my wildest dreams I'd end up here, but it's hard because no one knows what I'm going through. Yeah, they all have their own mutant abilities that are exceedingly difficult, but they can _touch_ people if they want to. They can hold hands, kiss, et cetera. They have a choice in the manner. I do not; not unless I wanna kill the person I'm touching.

"I must be completely boring you, and I really didn't mean to drag on so long. And honestly, I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this. Maybe it's because I think you'll understand, but it also helps me vent. I swear I'm not trying to take advantage of you…" I cut her off with a wave of my hand, then look at my new roommate, Rogue. I had no idea, but I appreciated her bearing of the soul. I tried my hardest to remember the miniscule amount of American Sign Language I knew. I put my fingers, straight-palmed and nails out, on my chin, and then drew my arm straight out. Thank You.

If she didn't understand the sign language, Rogue at least understood the effort, and she smiled.

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So, any good? R+R, please. I really appreciate it, 'cause I know how much of a wave X2 is creating (seen four times and counting…). No promises, but Kurt'ems might show up later. ^^


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